Just a PSA
My husband and I put our kids in swimming lessons because we insist they know how to swim. Because we’re controlling. Because we dictate what activities they will enjoy. Because we expect nothing less than Olympians in ten to fifteen years’ time. Okay, fine. It’s actually a lot less boring than any of those reasons. See, it’s just for plain old survival’s sake. When one set of grandparents has a pool and the other a cottage on a lake, it becomes (to us) a no-brainer. Know how to swim or, well - let’s not think of the alternative. Except I had to do just that today: think of - and actually witness - the very beginning of the alternative. Not pretty folks. And just wait till you find out where it happened. Swimming lessons. So, here’s the deal. I take my middle daughter to her lessons in the afternoon on a weekday at an old city pool. These factors combine to render those lessons very sparsely populated. We’re talking even with two sets of lessons running at the same time, no...